


Sex on a Frozen River Mayhem

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: TV Commercials, Torchwood
Genre: M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:56:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mayhem, meet Captain Jack Harkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex on a Frozen River Mayhem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightcamedown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightcamedown/gifts).



> Many thanks to Iulia and Miss Molly Etc for beta and cheerleading!

I'm one of the stupidest things you've ever done, and in two hundred years, Captain Jack Harkness, you've done a lot of stupid things. I'm wearing a black three-piece suit to hike along an ice road eleven thousand feet above sea level in the Himalayas. I'm the only person who looks more out of place than you do, with your grey military coat and your movie-star grin.

I catch your eye. You say it's the suit. You say the suit makes you want to do stupid things. I say, hey, I'm Mayhem.

So here we are, camping overnight on the ice instead of huddling for warmth with everyone else in a nice, dry cave. And when I say camping overnight, I mean we're going to fuck on top of your big grey coat. Your coat is the only thing between us and the ice, and under the ice?

Under the ice there's a fast, cold river.

You're not thinking about that, though. You're thinking about getting me out of this suit.

I make you work for it a little, just to keep things interesting. We're making out and fighting at the same time, because we both know just how rough we can be. We're grinding against each other--of course we're both hard, we've both known exactly what we were headed for since the second we met. You shove me down against the ice and bounce my head off it. My skull doesn't crack, but the ice does. Just a little bit. You can't tell yet.

I bite my tongue and come up with a grin full of blood, and you let up on me for a second. That's enough time for me to flip you, so now I'm grinding you into the ice. I kiss you, and you grab me by the hair while I rock down against you and unbutton your shirt. I'm getting into it--sometimes sex is as perfectly disastrous as a hurricane, and you feel like that. I get the feeling just fucking you could be more trouble than I've caused in a long, long time, and I want it bad. You let go of my hair and yank my belt open. You're getting impatient now, careless. I love it when people get careless.

Plus, I'm hard as hell and these pants are just annoying me now.

You get out of your clothes like they've got escape hatches, but you leave my shirt and vest--waistcoat, you say, even though you sound like an American--hanging open. Fine with me, because you get my pants off and you've got a travel-size jar of Vaseline in your pocket. For a thousand and one uses, you say, although I'm pretty sure there are really only three.

I don't bother telling you which three, because you flip me again. I'm half dressed with my legs in the air, looking up at the stars with the ice rocking underneath me and your fingers in my ass. I squirm under you, telling you harder, faster--there--right there--yeah, more. You don't hear what I hear, the sound of the ice creaking. You just hear me, and your own breathing, which is pretty fast. You're grinning. You look like this is the most fun you've had in a long time.

I'm smiling, too. I think this is a stupid idea we're both enjoying a lot more than most.

You finally get down to fucking me, and that's where the fun really starts. There's the ordinary kind of fun--cock in my ass, the kind of pleasure that whites out every other sense for a second at a time. Your body is throwing off heat all around mine, and you're sweating enough that my legs slip when I wrap them around your sides. When you kiss me it tastes more like salt than blood, now. We're hot, steaming in the cold air, and your coat is warming up under me.

And the ice is warming up under your coat. That's where the real fun comes in. Rhythmic impacts on the same spot on the ice set up a resonance with the water below. The forces on the ice are multiplying every time you slam your cock into me. The water pounds back. In between, the ice fractures. More. More. Right there. Harder. _More_.

At the moment when we tip over into imminent and inevitable disaster, I come without you touching my cock, arching up under you and showing my teeth. You're transfixed by the sight--and by the feeling of my ass on your cock. You definitely don't hear the rifle-crack of the ice under us before you start fucking me again, harder and wilder than ever.

The water leaks up through your coat and my clothes, but you couldn't stop now for the apocalypse. I lay there and take it, because we're on the downhill side now, just waiting for the consequences to catch up. You look actually ecstatic, and I know it's partly me, because I am just this hot, and partly it's just sex, because you just like sex. But partly it what's coming next. I know you have a sense about these things, after all this time. You slam into me one last time, your orgasm overtakes you, and in that perfect instant, the ice gives way and we fall through together into rushing black water.

The water breaks us apart pretty quickly, but I'm still half wrapped in your coat. I drag it with me when I come to a break in the ice and pull myself through. I'm a couple hundred yards downstream from where we "camped," so I button my shirt and vest before I walk back barefoot and bareassed over the ice to get the rest of my clothes.

I pick up yours, while I'm at it, and then I walk back downstream, lugging your wet coat along with everything else. I'm not naturally considerate, but I've always been curious, and I've never run into anything like you before.

I find you nearly half a mile away, washed up against a shelf of ice in a place where the river's broken open across most of its width. I sit down on the ice and watch you. You're very waterlogged, and very cold, and very, very dead. The stars are bright above us, and the moon is rising over the edge of the gorge the river runs through. Everything is monochrome in this light. My black suit looks right at home now. You're gray between the black water and white ice, but after a while I see color creep into your skin.

You suddenly flail upright, sending a perpendicular wave across the surface of the river. You gasp in a huge breath, and haul yourself out of the water, shivering, but you kind of smile when you see your clothes. You're mostly dressed when you sit down next to me and kiss me--the blood got washed out of my mouth, and now we both just taste like the river.

You say, "The talking thing--don't get me wrong, it's hot, but it's getting kind of weird. You think you could knock it off for a little while?"

I smile and give you a wink.

**Author's Note:**

> Everything I know about ice roads in the Himalayas I learned from reading Ted Conover's _The Routes of Man: How Roads Are Changing the World and the Way We Live Today_. He doesn't explicitly mention it being the stupidest place on earth to have sex, but nonetheless it came to mind when I was trying to think of one.


End file.
